


Ginger Tea

by EternalLibrary



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 02:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18562456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EternalLibrary/pseuds/EternalLibrary
Summary: I got sick TWO TIMES in the space of like a month and a half it was AWFUL and I channeled it into fic.





	Ginger Tea

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry I'm so garbage at titles.

In the relative isolation of a closed system like a shatterdome, viruses get passed around like an extremely unpleasant game of hot potato. When he first notices the red noses and surgical masks and coughs into elbows in the mess, Hermann knows what’s coming, and stocks up on vitamin C tablets and hand sanitizer. He isn’t _too_ worried though until Newton starts sniffling.

“’m not sick,” Newt says when Hermann brings it up. “It’s just like, allergies. Like, would it kill you to get a whiteboard?”

He punctuates his statement with a cough that he muffles with a gulp of coffee.

Hermann raises an eyebrow. That evening he leaves a box of ginger tea on Newt’s desk.

Newton looks like hell the next day, something that Hermann wastes no time in telling him.

“Yeaaaaaah,” Newt says, “I didn’t really sleep? ‘Cause like, I kept having to blow my nose and cough and stuff? I maaaaaaaaay have a _little_ cold.”

“You don’t say,” Hermann says dryly.

“By the way,” Newton adds, “I hate this tea. This is like my third cup. Why does it taste like that!? I love it.”

Hermann doesn’t bother responding and Newton pulls on gloves and goggles and a respirator and gets down to dissecting something that Hermann would rather not think about.

Except every few minutes he stops to nudge the respirator down with his forearms and cough into the collar of his lab-coat and gasp like he’s not getting enough air and finally Hermann pushes away from his computer and says, “Newton, I think you would be better suited to a task that doesn’t involve further restriction of your breathing.”

“I think you would be better suited to shutting up,” Newt mumbles.

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you over your _wheezing_ ,” Hermann says.

Newt glares but peels off a glove and grabs a tissue off his desk. Hermann flinches as he blows his nose loudly.

“Or better yet,” Hermann says, “you could take the day off and try to get better.”

“Can’t improve on perfection,” Newt quips, then sneezes loudly, thankfully into the tissue he still holds.

“Clearly,” Hermann says, and turns back to his computer. “If you infect any of the shared spaces, please be sure and wipe them down.”

Newton cheerfully coughs and sneezes and sniffles his way through the morning and seems to content to continue doing so as Hermann leaves for the mess, his offer to bring back food having been met with a congested, “Nah, dude”.

When he returns half an hour later, however, Newt is passed out on the sofa. Hermann sighs, and leaves the soup he’d brought back on a low table.

He works uninterrupted for a couple hours before he hears Newton stirring.

“Hermaaaaaann,” Newton groans before coughing, curling into himself. “You’re back,” he rasps.

“Same to you,” Hermann replies. “You’ve been asleep for at least two hours.”

“What?” says Newt, voice cracking over the word. “God _damn_ my throat feels like Oblivion Bay. What time is it?” He collapses into another coughing fit.

“Time,” Hermann says, “for you to try and eat something and then _go back to bed_.”

“Can’t,” Newt sniffs, “too much work to do. Is this soup?”

Hermann doesn’t bother answering as Newton has already cracked the lid off the styrofoam container and grabbed the plastic spoon.

“This is cold,” he mumbles around a mouthful.

“It was warm two hours ago,” Hermann says.

“Fair enough,” Newt says, continuing to eat.

Several minutes pass before Newt speaks up again. “I feel like I’ve been stepped on.”

Hermann is not sure if this is a conversation starter or just a generalized observation. He considers telling Newton to go rest again, but Newt beats him to the punch.

“Being sick _sucks_ ,” he says with the air of someone making an earths hattering discovery.

Hermann decides that he’s not necessary for Newt’s cataloging of grievances and grabs his cane and walks over to the blackboard.

“Hermann,” Newt says reproachfully, “are you even listening?”

“You were wallowing,” Hermann replies without looking over.

“I was _not_ ,” Newt whines. “I am _suffering_ and you’re just _ignoring_ me.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermann half turns, “do you want me to bring you a blanket and sing you lullabies?”

“I’d prefer two Tylenols,” Newton mutters.

“Here’s an idea,” Hermann says. “Why don’t you go back to your room, get yourself a couple Tylenols and get some rest?”

“That sounds like the opposite of fun,” Newt says, “anyway I have work.”

Hermann rolls his eyes, “Yes, you’re being so productive.”

Newt flips him off half heartedly.

Throughout the rest of the day Newton intermittently snoozes and complains in Hermann’s general direction. Hermann makes more ginger tea and gently needling replies.

The next day he’s relieved to be greeted by an empty lab and an email from Newton:

              taking a sick day ARE YOU HAPPY NOW

              -n

It turns out to be two sick days but when Newton returns, he is no longer sniffling and back to his normal energy. Hermann hopes that is the end of this cold cycle for the k-science lab. 

* * *

 

 

When he wakes up the next week with a scratch in his throat, he almost groans out loud.

It’s okay, he tells himself, it’s just a tickle, it could be from dust or thirst or anything. He swallows a vitamin C tablet and heads to the lab.

About halfway through the day, Newt peers across a table of god-know-what and says, “Dude, are _you_ stick now?”

He sounds almost gleeful and Hermann snaps, “No. I can’t get sick.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Newt says, putting a careless elbow in something squelchy. “If you’ve got the bug you’ve got it. Oh man, do you want some of your awesome awful tea? It tastes like it’s burning all the bugs right out of you!”

“I’m familiar with ginger tea,” Hermann says, “and if I need any, I’m perfectly capable of making it myself.”

“Oh damn,” Newt says, “you’re even more bitchy than usual when you’re sick.”

Hermann swallows down a retort and tries to focus back on the blackboard. His own writing glares at him, and even with his glasses it’s giving him a headache.

I’m not sick, he tells himself.

He is. The next morning, he feels like he’s been hit by a train, and the tickle in his throat has turned into a sharp pain.

“Not to sound like you from last week,” Newt says, “but you look like hell. Are you sure you should be here?”

“I’ll be fine,” Hermann says.

And he is, kind of. Fine as in, he’s able to do his work, albeit maybe not as efficiently as usual. Fine as in, he keeps his coughing down with the careful application of plenty of tea. Fine enough that Newton leaves him alone for the rest of the day.

But when he comes in the next day, Newton gives him a look like he’s slapped with a blinking biohazard symbol.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Hermann snaps. “You’ve already had this particular virus, so you have nothing to worry about.”

Newton looks at him skeptically. “Except for you keeling over from exhaustion,” he mutters.

Hermann sits at his computer, picking up a particularly stubborn model he’s been working with. After an hour of what feels like the mental equivalent of repeatedly punching a wall, he puts his head down on the desk. A part of him is embarrassed by the impulse but the larger part of him is exhausted and sore and the desk is cool and smooth.

“Damn,” Newt says, soft and too close.

Hermann jerks his head up. Newton has ventured to Herman’s side of the lab and is giving him a look like he’s a particularly delicate kaiju bone fragment.

“Sorry,” Newt says, “didn’t mean to startle you. I was wondering if you’d fainted.”

“I’m fine,” Hermann says. He feels like he’s been saying those two words a lot.

“Mmm. Yeah. Totally,” Newt says. “You know, I bitched to you, but I eventually did take some time to rest and look at me now.” He spreads his arms and does a little twirl. “Fit as a fucking fiddle my dude.”

“I don’t,” Hermann starts. He’d been about to say, ‘I don’t need to rest.’ But that sounds like bullshit even to him. “I don’t have time,” he amends, “to rest.”

“Uh, okay,” Newt says, rolling his eyes. “Neither does anyone else but like… you also don’t have time to be sick for weeks ’cause you didn’t take care of yourself.”

Hermann glowers at Newton, who glowers right back.

“Don’t think I won’t drag your ass to the infirmary,” Newt says.

Hermann sighs, too tired to argue further. “Fine,” he says, and stands up.

And immediately sits back down, head spinning.

“Wowwww,” Newt says. “You’re the picture of health.”

“It’s fine,” Hermann says, through gritted teeth.

“’Course it is,” Newt says, and heads towards the kettle. “I’m making you some of your weirdass tea. Can you get to the couch? I wanna make sure you don’t keel over before we get you to a real bed okay?”

Newton’s sarcastic chattering care is so alien to Hermann, used to an impersonal efficiency. He sinks gingerly onto the sofa, trying not to give into the inviting pull of gravity on his aching muscles.

“Here,” Newt shoves a mug of tea at Hermann and presses the back of one hand against his forehead. “I don’t actually know how to tell if you have a fever by feel. How hot is too hot? I’m not sure if I have a spare thermometer…”

“I don’t believe I have a fever,” Hermann says quietly, letting the steam off the tea warm his face.

“Yeah I don’t trust you to make accurate observations about your health,” Newton says. “But I’ll let it slide for now. Drink that okay, and don’t leave yet, I’ll be back.”

Before Hermann can get a single syllable out, Newt is gone.

Hermann blows on the tea, a gesture that feels strangely futile with his nose blocked. He sips it gingerly.

Newt reappears shortly holding a small box, “These are for you, I got them when I was sick.”

Hermann reads the box:

**Night-time Cold and Flu Relief**

“They’ll knock you right out and clear up the congestion so you can actually get some sleep,” Newton continues.

“I’m familiar with decongestants,” Hermann snaps. He thinks his raspy voice takes some of the sting off the words.

“Just checking, grandpa,” Newt says. “I thought maybe you were all lozenges and weirdly spicy tea.”

Hermann rolls his eyes. “Thank you, Newton.”

“Of course, dude,” Newton says.

Hermann finishes the tea and makes his way back to his room. He can’t help feeling a twinge of guilt at the work he’s not getting done. He remembers Newton’s words, ‘you don’t have time to be sick for weeks ‘cause you didn’t take care of yourself.’

He takes the decongestant, lays down and is asleep within minutes.

When he wakes, his clock reads 22:43. He stares at the blinking dots until it ticks over to 22:44. His head feels stuffed full of cotton, and his throat is dry and raw. He makes himself a cup of tea and drinks it slowly, still feeling exhausted. He picks up the box of decongestant, stares meditatively at it for a moment, then takes another and falls back asleep.

The next time he wakes it’s 11:06 and he feels…better. He feels like he’s breathing properly for the first time in days, and the tiredness and headache he puts down to low blood sugar.

He takes an acetaminophen for the headache and makes his way to the lab.

Where he is promptly turned away by Newton.

“Noooope dude,” he says, blocking the doorway as well as his 170 cm self can, “Doctor Newt is prescribing one more day of R an’ R.”

“Neweton,” Hermann says, peeved, “I assure you I’m feeling much –”

“Much better, yeah,” Newton bulldozes right over the end of his sentence. “That’s because you _rested_. Listen, I know I was a pain in the ass when I was sick so now it’s your turn, but I did the doing nothing thing and got better and _you’re gonna too_.”

“I _did_ rest,” Hermann argues.

“Yeah, and now you’re gonna work yourself ragged ‘cause you feel _guilty_ about it and my guy, your poor immune system just wants to kick this virus’s ass so why don’t we let it finish it’s job instead.”

Hermann glares at him, and then coughs. He tries to swallow it down, but ends up coughing harder. Newton, damn him, is _laughing_.

“Enjoy your day off,” he says brightly, and Hermann shoots him one last glare and turns around.

He is not going to waste the day, he tells himself. He is going to make himself some more ginger tea and he is going to catch up on his reading and paper work on his tablet because he _is_ well enough to work and if he’s barred from doing so in the lab then he is damn well going to do so in his room.

He is asleep before the kettle finishes boiling.


End file.
